


Rainy Sundays

by commanderofcandles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Lots of rain, One Shot, Short One Shot, Writer!Lexa, lexa is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderofcandles/pseuds/commanderofcandles
Summary: Lexa loved rain. So did Clarke. Lexa didn't love people. Clarke did. Clarke wanted to read Lexa's stories. Lexa said yes. Maybe she did love some people after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Clexakru!  
> I'm kinda new to this website (but not new in fanfic). I'm soso226 on fanfiction.net and I decided to post all my previous works here. So this is the 1st I'm posting (and the last I've written wtf).  
> This came out of nowhere so hope you enjoy!

**What are you doing?**

  
**Writing**

  
**What are you writing?**

  
**Stories**

  
**Can I read them?**

  
**They’re boring**

  
**Can I still read them?**

  
That was the moment. The exact moment Lexa knew she had fallen in love with Clarke. And it scared the shit out of her.

  
**Sure**

  
**What are they about?**

  
**Life**

  
**Aren’t you going to tell me more?**

  
**No, you have to read them first**

  
She was freaking out. She had never shown her work to anyone. She had been too afraid, and she was now. But it was Clarke. She could share anything with Clarke.

  
Except one thing. Her life. Her love.

  
She knew she wasn’t the type of person to end up in a big house, full of children and dogs. Or wait, she was exactly the type of person to end up in a house full of dogs. She was also the type of person that will end her life alone, in the dark. Not because she didn’t have friends or lovers. She had. Many.

  
She just liked loneliness. Maybe a little too much for it to be healthy, but that was the way Lexa was. Alone – though you’re never really alone with dogs. And satisfied.

  
She didn’t like the concept of happiness. How could anyone ever be truly happy? Why would anyone want to? The only thing that mattered was to feel content with what you had. Lexa was. Very.  
Lie.

  
But Clarke was new, unlike anything else she’d ever known. It was making her nervous, scared even.

  
Lexa had had many loves in her life. The first one had been her dog, Michka, that she had when she was a child. Then she had fell in love with music and reading. Years later, she’d discovered writing.  
She had loved all of those things, and up until then, she was sure that they would remain the only loves of her life.

  
Up until Clarke. A person. Very real. Too real even.

  
Lexa had met Clarke on a Sunday. Sundays in Polis were not that great. If you weren’t a lover of small towns, with people always snooping around and beautiful sunsets, then there was nothing for you in Polis.

  
Lexa loved all of those things too. She found them fascinating. She loved Sundays. And that Sunday, it was raining.  
She loved rain.

  
So did Clarke, as she would find out later.

  
Lexa had wanted to buy a particular book that day. Libraries were closed. Except for one, that was always open. The one her friend Gustus had given her the key to, to always keep it open for her. So she had gone there, only for a few minutes – or so she thought – to grab the book, leave the money near the cash register and go home. She barely noticed she had left the door open until she had heard a voice.

  
“Hello?”

  
Lexa had frozen in place, sure that her life was about to end in that library. Some serial killer had seen her going in alone.

  
But it wasn’t a serial killer.

  
Lexa had almost wished it was one.

  
She heard scrambling, and a muffled, deep, raspy voice. “Fuck, good job Clarke.”

  
The seral killer was a girl, and she was talking to herself.

  
Lexa briefly remembers thinking she had a pretty voice, but she was a serial killer, and serial killers didn’t have pretty voices.

  
Her grip around the book tightened, as if that book that was the cause of her soon-to-be-death could also save her. She went around a shelf and faced the front door when she saw her.

  
She was blonde, blue-eyed, and she was soaked.

  
She had knocked a few books down because of her umbrella and she seemed completely lost.

  
Lexa had never seen her in town before, and Lexa had seen everyone. Studied them, even.

  
She was aware it sounded like she was the serial killer. But people – especially people in Polis – had always fascinated her.

  
She would have remembered such a peculiar person.

  
“You’re soaked,” Lexa had said.

  
Not really what you tell to a complete stranger breaking in a library on a Sunday.

  
“It wasn’t a break-in,” Clarke would always say later. “The door was open.” And she would smile. That tiny, cheeky smile of her.

  
Lexa loved that smile.

  
No. Lexa loved reading, music, rain, and writing. And dogs. She loved dogs.

  
She hadn’t expected that girl’s reply.

  
She was never expecting any of Clarke’s reply.

  
“So are you.”

  
They stared at each other, soaked and silent. Lexa with her book in hand, and Clarke with her umbrella.

  
“What are you reading?” The girl asked.

  
It was a special book to her, one that her dad at written. She would never admit it, but it was her favorite.

  
She would read it every fall since he passed away.

  
She had lost the copy he had given her a year ago, and she had felt the sudden urge to get another.

  
What she didn’t know was that that book wouldn’t be her favorite anymore. She would read it again, and again, and again, hoping it could still be, but it wasn’t. The smell of her dad would always be missing.

  
She had always blamed herself for losing her favorite book. No books would ever replace it.

  
She had lost her dad another time in a way.

  
But on that day, that didn’t matter.

  
That day, she had almost forgotten about the book, so when the stranger asked about it, she looked down to remember what she was talking about.

  
“It’s my favorite book,” Lexa had answered.

  
The stranger before her nodded, and she looked around her, not at all phased that she was the only customer in an almost empty library.

  
Her gaze fell back on Lexa. “I’m Clarke,’ she said as she offered her hand.

  
Lexa stared at it without making a single move. “I didn’t ask.”

  
“You didn’t have to.”

  
Clarke’s hand fell flat against her hip, and Lexa felt the sudden urge to check what her hand would feel like against her own.

  
“I’m Lexa.”

  
//

  
The second time they had seen each other was on a Sunday again, at a café – the only café in Polis, Arkadia. Lexa was seated on the only available seat in front of the window, facing the ocean, laptop in front of her, as per usual.

  
It was raining again.

  
Lexa loved rain.

  
So did Clarke.

  
The bell indicated that someone had entered, but Lexa barely paid any attention to it. She would always pay attention to everything, but not this time. This time, she was too focused on figuring out whether she should get a dog.

  
Lexa loved dogs.

  
A voice made her look away from the screen of her laptop.

  
A raspy, deep voice she thought she had forgotten. She could never.

  
“Hi Lexa.”

  
“Hi Clarke.”

  
Without even asking for permission, Clarke sat on the chair in front of her.

  
Lexa’s eyes didn’t widen, they never do.

  
“What if I’m with someone?”

  
Clarke raised a daring eyebrow. “Are you?”

  
“No.”

  
They had sat there for a while, in silence. Clarke was drinking her macchiato, Lexa deciding what kind of dog she wanted – because yes, of course she wanted a dog.

  
They had barely talked; they didn’t feel the need. Silence was comforting, reassuring even.

  
Lexa loved silence.

  
So did Clarke, sometimes. She did that day.

  
Lexa still didn’t exactly know how it happened, she and Clarke becoming what you could call friends.

  
She’d never had a friend like Clarke. She didn’t know at the time, that they had never really been friends to begin with. They had always been much more than that.

  
Lexa had figured she wasn’t satisfied anymore the day Clarke had asked, “Lexa, do you love me?”

  
Lexa had looked at her, not even phased. “No,” she had simply answered.

  
Lie.

  
Only she didn’t know it was at the time.

  
Now she did.

  
She loved Clarke.

  
Lexa loved Clarke.

  
No, Lexa loved rain. Lexa loved writing. And Lexa loved music.

  
Lexa didn’t love people.

  
Her dog ran up to her, obviously needing to go out.

  
Lexa remembered how Clarke had run after her that day, when she had left.

  
Clarke was crying – of course, she thought Lexa didn’t love her.

  
Lexa started crying, too. She didn’t know why. Lexa didn’t cry. Ever.

  
“Tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”

  
Clarke’s voice was demanding, pleading, even.

  
Lexa stared at her eyes, blue like the ocean she was staring at every day.

  
She remained silent.

  
“Tell me!” Clarke cried out.

  
Lexa kept her eyes locked with hers, until Clarke couldn’t take it anymore.

  
Lexa had gone home crying that day.

  
Lexa never cried.

  
She hated crying.

  
Lexa had knocked on Clarke’s door, a week later.

  
Clarke hadn’t seemed surprised to find her here, as if she’d been expecting her.

  
Lexa had fell in her arms, crying.

  
Clarke had wrapped her in her arms, pulling her inside and away from the coldness of winter.

  
She had confessed much later that she had wished she could pull Lexa away from the coldness of her heart. Then she had apologized, saying she was wrong, because Lexa’s heart had never been cold to begin with.

  
They had spent the night on Clarke’s couch, Lexa wrapped in the blonde’s arms.

  
She had loved it.

  
But Lexa didn’t love people, she only loved feelings, sensations, sights.

  
Lexa didn’t love people.

  
Lexa didn’t love people.

  
Lexa didn’t lo-

  
She took her dog out for a walk.

  
She didn’t know she would end up in front of Clarke’s house.

  
Or maybe she did.

  
Her dog whined next to her, as if to tell her to get her shit together and finally knock.

  
She narrowed her eyes at him, as if to scowl him but she knocked anyway.

  
“Hi Lexa.”

  
“Hi Clarke.”

  
Lexa smiled, a tiny, sweet smile that meant the world to Clarke, as she would confess later.

  
Lexa saw Clarke had been expecting her.

  
She’d always had.

  
Lexa didn’t feel satisfied in that moment. She didn’t feel scared either. She felt happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, hope you enjoyed the bit of fluff. It'd be awesome if you could leave a review :)  
> (Also, you can check out my tumblr @ commanderofcandles)
> 
> if you enjoyed, pls check out my [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/sophie31)


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